by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his response. She’d never seen Levi angry. Or possessive. Or rude. If he truly cared nothing for her hats, then he’d been lying to her when he’d expressed interest. If he had been lying, what else had he been dishonest about?
“I’m twenty-two years old,” she said in a quieter voice than his had been. No need to draw attention to their discussion. “Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do with what is legally mine and mine alone?”
“I’m your fiancé.” He crossed his arms and glowered down at her. While he was the shortest Webber, he towered over her by a good eight inches. “We’re getting married next month.”
“What? Who told you that?” She felt her mouth gape as she stared at him, waiting for some sign that he was jesting
He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile.
He continued to glare.
“Do you think we’re engaged?” she asked, because—well, she was too shocked to think of something to say otherwise.
“Yes.” His tone couldn’t have been more confident. “Ask anyone.”
Reba nearly stamped her foot. “I don’t care what anyone else says. You never proposed to me. Never, Levi. Not once in any of the letters you sent during the six years you were at college did you mention marriage … or courtship, for that matter. Not once this past summer did you speak of getting engaged. Not once have you said, ‘I love you, Reba. Will you marry me?’”
Then there was the fact he’d never kissed her. Or held her hand. Not that she was about to say that aloud. He might think she wanted him to kiss her, and she didn’t.
“We aren’t engaged,” she said firmly.
He yanked his cap off his head. “What did you think”—he flapped his hat in the space between them—“this was?”
“Friendship.”
“Fr–friendship?”
At the befuddled look on his face, she started to feel sorry for him, but then he said, “Everyone knows we are a couple.”
“I didn’t know,” she argued, “and you are presuming that other people think it.”
He raked his hand through his dark hair. “You’ve heard our mothers talking marriage.”
Reba rolled her eyes. “They’ve been talking marriage since we were children. Two Webber-Diehl marriages aren’t enough for them. As the youngest in each of our families, and the only two not married, and with farms next to the other, we seem like a logical match.” She knelt and lifted the black table covering to expose the basket she’d stored under the table. Standing, she rested the basket on the table. “I value our friendship. You are more a brother to me than any of mine have ever been.”
His mouth opened then closed. Redness crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Levi, I truly am,” she said. “I did not mean to embarrass you. Had I known you viewed our relationship more intimately—” Her own cheeks warmed as she said the last word.
With those green eyes, his strong jaw, and a well-fitted white shirt, Levi Webber attracted female attention. She’d seen ladies back home and here at the fair admire him. Circumstances would be easier if she had developed wifely feelings for him. No—actually that would have made things worse. Levi Webber grew up a dairyman, went to college to be a better dairyman, and would die a dairyman. Farm life was what he lived and breathed. If she had fallen in love with him, leaving him and the life he’d planned for them would be exponentially more difficult.
She’d hope they could part ways as friends. But now that she knew he saw them as a couple—well, how could this end amicably? Someone was going to be hurt.
He was going to be hurt.
But it was his own fault. Not only had he presumed they were courting, he’d also presumed she would say yes to his marriage proposal without him actually having to propose.
She withdrew a blue handkerchief from inside the basket. “I sold my land because I’m opening a millinery in Sioux Falls.” She folded the fabric into a triangle then tied it over her hair, the flap covering the loosely braided bun. “My father knows and is supportive. He helped negotiate a premium price for the land. A sweet Hutterite couple bought it.”
He tapped his hat against his thigh. “What will your monthly expenses be? How many hats will you have to sell to stay in business? How will you have time to make hats, sell product, and advertise? Do you know simple baseline accounting? What is your timeline for turning a profit?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t think you realize that there’s more to running a millinery than making hats,” he said, his irritation clear.
“I know there’s more,” she bit off.
He snorted and jerked his head. “Your problem is you have always been a success. Every time you’ve entered the fair, in every category, you’ve won a ribbon. Winning ribbons doesn’t mean you have the skill to run a business. You have greatly overestimated the number of South Dakotans who want to wear silly feathers and flowers on their heads.”
Reba snatched up the money and the notepad. She held out the money. “This is proof that people will pay for silly feathers and flowers.” She held up the notepad. “This is a list of people who want to buy silly feathers and flowers to wear on their heads.”
“Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don’t.” He sighed wearily, his brow furrowing. “Too often they don’t. Do you have a plan for what happens when your shop fails?”
“Ha! There’s your problem, Levi. You always assume the worst will happen.” Reba tossed the money and notepad inside the basket, adding also the hat pin. “Life hasn’t been easy for me. My mother—” Her voice cracked. “You of all people know what I’ve endured at home. I haven’t succeeded at everything I’ve tried. The difference between us”—her eyes burned with tears, and she sniffed—“the difference is that when I try something, I believe I’m going to succeed. It may not happen the first time, but given enough tries, it will happen. Hope never disappoints.”
People, though, did.
People also liked to remind her what a disappointment she was.
She rested her hand on his forearm. “I’ve been praying that God would reveal His will for my life. He’s closed doors while also giving me signs that this is the path I am to follow.”
“That’s not always the best way to go,” he grumbled. “When you use circumstances—good and bad—as a determination of God’s will for your life, you start thinking that because the Bible says God is good, God must always be behind the good things. Then when bad things happen, you question your faith in God and in His goodness.”
She patted his arm. “‘O ye of little faith.’”
“It’s not faith I need more of.” He claimed the jars of peaches from the table and placed them in her basket. “Take these.”
“You should keep them.”
“No, I bought them for you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer. Nothing in his expression indicated his actions were because he was deeply and passionately in love with her. If he loved her, he would have been there for the award ceremony. If he loved her, he would support her decision to open a millinery.
That he didn’t love her was good. She wasn’t in love with him, and unreciprocated love was terrible.
She knew that from experience, from the worst sixteen months of her life five years ago. If Levi hadn’t taken her to Mrs. Shaw’s estate sale and bought her the vintage millinery set, she may have wasted more months fruitlessly loving Gustov Browning. For as long as she could remember, Levi had been her closest friend. Some days it felt like he was her only friend.
Reba gave Levi a tender smile to cover the strange ache in her chest.
She looped the basket’s handle around her arm. She had taken four steps away when she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Did you say something?”
He shook his head.
How odd. She could have sworn he said, “Because you’re my girl.”
He slapped his cap back on his
head. “I’ll see you at the wagons.” And then he turned around and headed to the exit.
Reba sighed. This wasn’t how she wanted their friendship to end. She’d always enjoyed talking to Levi and enjoyed not feeling obligated to fill the silence when he had nothing to say. She liked his ability to make people feel at ease. He was a good listener. She just wished he would be a little more hopeful, a little more optimistic that everything would work out how God willed it.
And it would work out, because God had made a way.
Chapter 3
“An experienced milliner is capable of designing entirely new and original patterns of shapes; and without even measurements as her guide, she produces the idea which her brain has conceived.”
—Practical Millinery
Edmison-Jamison building, 9th and Phillips Avenue, Sioux Falls Monday, October 5, 1908
Reba clasped her hands together on the lap of her black skirt to hide their shaking. She refused to look like a female wilting under pressure. She could do this. She had to stay calm, to not look like she was panicking or that her pulse was racing. Was she sweating? She was. She could feel the moisture on the back of her neck.
“Mr. Smyth,” she said with a smile, “Brookings is sixty miles north of Sioux Falls and one-third the population. Three women there own millinaries, a fourth manages a music store, a fifth the general store, the sixth is the superintendent of the hospital, a seventh a school principal, and everyone in this part of the state knows Mrs. Gerlach, the proprietor of the ever popular Wayside Inn. If Sioux Falls is to overcome her past of being the divorce capital of the country, then, in honor of Helen McKennan, creator of the city’s first public park, let us work together to make Sioux Falls a city of opportunity … a city of prosperity for both sexes.”
Mr. Smyth leaned back, his chair squeaking. He smoothed his bushy gray mustache as he looked from Reba to her father and back to her. “Impressive speech for one so young.”
Father nodded. “Reba has spent the last year interviewing women business owners. She is not venturing into this lightly.”
Mr. Smyth crossed his arms. “Are you sure you want to do this? Do you realize how risky opening a new business is, especially for a female as inexperienced as you are?”
Reba kept her gaze on the building manager yet swallowed to ease the tightening in her throat. His questions echoed the ones Father had begun asking after she’d told him she wanted to open a millinery, and had continued to ask even as they’d ridden the train to Sioux Falls this morning. Was she sure? Yes. Did she realize the risk? Yes. Now, though, was not the time to let caution restrain her dreams. With great risk came great reward.
She motioned to the proposal she’d prepared. She’d spent more time on it than any essay in high school. “On page three is a list of the benefits to me of leasing a street-level shop in the Edmison-Jamison building. Phillips Avenue is the principal retail thoroughfare in Sioux Falls. Having my millinery there is the key to its success.”
“In good conscience,” Mr. Smyth said, “I must recommend you lease a less expensive location, build up your clientele, and in time move to Phillips Avenue, if you deem it worthwhile.”
Father shifted in his chair and looked her way, silently expressing his agreement with the building manager.
“I considered that,” Reba admitted. Her straw hat seemed to have doubled its weight, and the stuffy room needed a window opened.
“Mr. Diehl, please talk sense into your daughter.”
“I have tried.” Father turned to Mr. Smyth. “We discussed the benefits and costs. Reba is an adult, and this is her money—thus her decision. You could lease the space to her and have a guaranteed six months’ rent. Or you could reject her offer and gamble that another interested person will come along. You lose nothing by leasing the space to her. Any loss is Reba’s to bear.”
Mr. Smyth tapped his desktop. “Mr. Diehl, I’m a father myself. Both of my girls are about your daughter’s age. One has a child already; the other is carrying. I’d be remiss not to point out that what your daughter would spend on six months’ rent would buy one of those mail-order houses from the Sears catalog. She needs a husband, not a business.”
“She—”
Reba touched her father’s arm to signal that he should let her respond. “Sir, I want to be a milliner, not a wife. What I decide three—four—years from now could be different.”
Mr. Smyth continued to tap his desk.
Reba added quickly, “I am not naïve enough to believe the moment my millinery opens I’ll have customers. Please give me a chance.” She motioned to her proposal again, which he finally opened. “You’ll see my plan includes realistic one-month, three-month, and six-month goals.” Thanks to her father’s insight. She would’ve asked Levi for advice about her proposal and for accounting tips, but he’d been avoiding her since the fair. “All I’m asking for is a six-month lease. If in that time I’ve not met the agreed-upon goals, then your prime lease space returns to you.”
Mr. Smyth turned his attention to her proposal. He lifted a page then flipped to the next and then the next. With a shake of his head, he closed the cover. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll have the contract ready for you to sign. And bring a bank check.”
“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.” Reba stood and shook his hand. She claimed her tapestry bag.
As they walked to the door, Mr. Smyth said, “I recommend you rent a room at the Cataract Hotel just next door. Or at Fogerty’s Boardinghouse. It’s about an eight-minute trolley ride from here.”
Father shook Mr. Smyth’s hand. “We will be back in the morning.”
Reba hurried to the stairs. She paused until her father caught up. “I told you God’s will was for me to open a millinery. I won at the fair. People were willing to pay me many times what my hats cost to make. And now I have a prime boutique space on Phillips Avenue. God has piled on the blessings. Every time I’ve thrown out a fleece, He has answered in confirmation.”
Father gave her an odd look. “I hope you have that same confidence when circumstances don’t go in your favor.”
Reba released a loud sigh. “You sound like Levi. Have faith!”
“It is not faith I am lacking,” Father muttered. “I know how much you dislike math.”
“Accounting is not like doing algebra. I’ll be fine.”
They turned the corner and descended from the second floor.
“Mr. Smyth will eventually see the merit in leasing to me,” Reba said, her excitement speeding up her words, echoing them off the walls. “He will.”
Father pointed his hat at her. “You will have to work hard to bring in customers. You will need to spend extra money on advertising. You must pay the bills promptly and keep a detailed budget. No rounding up. You must add and subtract to the penny.”
“Oh, I will.” She stopped at the ground floor and pirouetted. “I’m so happy I could dance.”
Father plopped his hat on his head. “Before you dance, we need to examine your shop. You need to make a list of what needs to be done to prepare your boutique for customers. Come along.” He nudged her to the arched front doors and outside onto the ten-foot-wide paved sidewalk.
Two shop spaces were next to the entrance to the Edmison-Jamison building. One was taken by Huss Bakery.
Reba breathed deeply. “I am going to love working here for the smell alone.”
Father’s gaze shifted to the building to their right. He frowned. “We should check the boardinghouse first. The hotel looks expensive.”
Reba eyed the five-story brick building. Its first-floor café had street access. She’d heard the restaurant inside was one of the finest in the city. But as lovely as the Cataract was, a boardinghouse was a better use of her funds. She motioned to the left, to the west side of Ninth Street. “The Metropolitan Bank is right down there. Should we get the bank check now or wait until morning?”
Father checked his watch. “Let’s wait. We’ll take the streetcar to the boardinghous
e then walk back this way. It’s a good day to check walking time. Remember, time is money, so you must always calculate how much you could accomplish if you didn’t have to spend time traveling to work. Also, when running a business, it may be worthwhile to pay someone to do a trivial job so you have time to do the one demanding greater skill. Consider costs and dividends.”
“I don’t want to spend money on an employee until business is more than I can handle.”
“It’s your millinery.” She could tell by his tone he disagreed with her decision.
They waited until the electric streetcar came to a stop.
Reba hitched her tapestry bag in the crook of her arm then lifted the front of her skirt to keep it from brushing against the dirt-hardened street. When she had the time, she would alter her work dresses to ankle length. No sense letting the streets ruin a hem. Come to think of it, in light of the number of times she’d have to walk to the trolley if she lived at the boardinghouse, the added cost of living at the Cataract may outweigh the inconvenience of crossing muddy streets. Thankfully, it hadn’t rained in over a week.
Father helped her into the streetcar.
Reba slid onto a wooden bench, the car bumping as passengers climbed on and off. She rested her bag in her lap.
Father sat next to her and crossed his legs, “What about Levi?”
That took her aback. “What about him?”
“You broke his heart.”
“I did not.” She shifted to face him. “Why do you bring this up now?”
Father did nothing but raise his brows, which she suddenly realized (like his beard) were more white than ash blond. Sixty-seven wasn’t old. Or at least it hadn’t seemed old until today.
The streetcar started into motion.
“You can look at me like that all you want,” Reba said, smiling, “but I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Levi’s a good man”—he patted her arm—“and good for you.”
Reba sighed. That he was good for her was irrelevant. She liked Levi. She really did. She missed talking to him, missed confiding her fears and insecurities. He was smart. Far smarter than she was. So how could he have presumed they were engaged? How could he have allowed Mother and Mrs. Webber to plan his—their—future? And why? One thing she’d learned with her mother was that if you gave her an inch she’d take a mile. Levi knew that, too. Not everything parents wanted for their children was the best thing. Someday he’d have to realize that, or else he would lose out on doing something God wanted him to do because he was too committed to what his parents wanted him to do. He was going to miss so many wonders because he was stuck on the farm.
